This installation was first created at Les Ateliers Sauvages in Algiers, Algeria, thanks to Wassyla Tamzali. Walk around the installation by watching the video above.
Fascinated by the fact that Anna Greki wrote the entire book of poems, Algerie Capitale Alger, while incarcerated in Serkadji prison in Algiers, I decided to research the idea of creation in isolation. I explored the items in my room at Les Ateliers Sauvages, while I was a resident there. I stared at the Venetian blinds day after day and began to film them. Then I stared at the light, I noticed how it looked like an eye when I closed the aperture of the camera more and more. An eye that was always watching, the light that burned the insects, small harmless beings within it.
Fascinated by the fact that Anna Greki wrote the entire book of poems, Algerie Capitale Alger, while incarcerated in Serkadji prison in Algiers, I decided to research the idea of creation in isolation. I explored the items in my room at Les Ateliers Sauvages, while I was a resident there. I stared at the Venetian blinds day after day and began to film them. Then I stared at the light, I noticed how it looked like an eye when I closed the aperture of the camera more and more. An eye that was always watching, the light that burned the insects, small harmless beings within it.
Anna Greki's Room from Anne Murray on Vimeo.
I placed the cloth, a veil, around the space, both a protection and a sign of the hidden nature of things underneath our skin, our human foibles. I had been taking many photos of these draperies on the buildings in Algiers where there was so much renovation going on, while considering Anna Greki describing the city as Alger la blanche. For me the white was the drapery which protected us all from the dust of the restorations, of the perpetual process of renewal of this city. I placed several standing lamps to illuminate the space, to make it brighter than bright almost painful to see. The lights made the room hot and referenced a form of torture with light, for me a reference to the torture that Anna Greki had experienced while in prison. The light also created beautiful shadows like I had seen on the buildings in Algiers in the afternoon, a beautiful symphony of light and shadow, regardless of what was underneath this bridal veil.
Poetry and Anna Greki 720p from Anne Murray on Vimeo.
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A video collection of interviews including the poet Abderrahmane Djelfaoui,
the poet and translator Lamis Saidi, and the photographer Imene Nesrine Kerdel. I included sound Installations with the voice of Abderrahmane Djelfaoui and my own voice reading my poems inspired by Anna Greki and the city of Algiers. You could listen to the voices on an mp3 player while looking at a photo of |
the white fabric on a building near Les Ateliers Sauvages. Listen here to poet and author of Anna Greki: Les Mots D'Amour, Les Mots De Guerre, Abderrahmane Djelfaoui, speaking about Anna Greki and all the names by which she was known. : soundcloud.com/annemurrayartist/abderrahmane-1
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Take your time
Listen here: soundcloud.com/annemurrayartist/take-your-time-by-anne-murray Take your time, you will need it When the last breath comes, take it slowly A memory of torture as it feeds on itself Take your time, you are going to need it When they come for you in the street, the bullies And the bravards, one in the same Take your time, you will miss it To weep in the night as you long for a future Too far to glimpse Take your time, it will measure How it all ends up, how fast or slow You find the path Take your time, as you walk They will judge you As you judge yourself Take your time, to think it over To make these choices For they are not only for yourself. by Anne Murray Alger Listen here: soundcloud.com/annemurrayartist/alger-by-anne-murray The further I travel away, the closer I am To what is true within me. Arms enfolding in a twisting motion It is no good to try to hug myself. My strength must come from something on the outside working inward drilling its way to a center where matter appears meaningless, but for each small effort. The casualties of daily struggles lie strewn in myriad patterns where I stopped participating and my shadow slipped as silence into water. A nightfall at midday, an eclipse of self, a halo just bright enough to trace its shape, it is a promise to myself that I would let go of everything for something, not anticipated but divined. In the streets I hear them, the small cries first starlings and then the birds of prey, a predatory predilection would banish me to life without, while inside a fire still burns. The consummation of myself Ashes from which I draw a new spirit An awkwardness of being An animal limb upon limb Would harm itself on its own shell. The broken patterns of debris, An embryonic detritus, No one but me would touch, My hand as on a baby’s head, Explores its texture with a Thoughtful tenderness Gaining ground, I rise from steps And the stench of human fluids, not meant to be shared make me cautious of my clothes. Here I have transgressed a social context of unintended impact, a woman asks from her window for me to come inside but I smile and allow myself the opportunity only in my mind. by Anne Murray |
Date
Listen here: soundcloud.com/annemurrayartist/date-by-anne-murray The pit of the date emerges from my mouth. My tongue and teeth working in a fine motion, Not even the smallest morsel of flesh remains A clean birth of the future fruit from which, I, Might once again, be nourished. Bittersweet scent of citrus, Fingertips as I touch my face In an absent gesture I reflect upon its source, the orange, an emissary from the sun. How will you know me, When I am gone? the peel of this orange a delicate scent that will not endure or the date which emerges from the embrace of verdant arms as fruit on your tongue? Words of others Would witness my presence Shadows of whom I might have been or once was an emptiness present only because they remember moments shared with me. will you search for my existence, for evidence of things you might have asked before? Echos of thoughts, rebounding From across waves of time We exist in the memories of others In our exchange I know I am here only because You are. By Anne Murray 
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